


A Remedy for Tuesdays

by NienteZero



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Food, Humour, I hope, M/M, Sushi, i tagged m/m because there's no neither/neither, tender stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NienteZero/pseuds/NienteZero
Summary: Cheering up an angel, with food. That's definitely something Crowley can do right.





	A Remedy for Tuesdays

The angel was blue.

Certainly there wasn't a looming apocalypse any more. It seemed likely that Heaven and Hell would keep their noses out of Crowley and Aziraphale's business, at least for a while. But these days after the world didn't end had a strange, flat let down to them. A what-now-ness, and a well-here-we-are-ness. Dining at the Ritz was all very well for one night, but what did you do on a Tuesday afternoon three weeks after armageddon was stopped?

Leaving Aziraphale sitting at his books with an absently bright expression that creased his lips into a smile but left the rest of his face blank, Crowley had declared that he couldn't sit around a fusty bookshop all day, and he was going for a walk.

What he was going for was a remedy for that angelic moping.

Food. Food always did the trick.

Crowley's angel liked raw fish. 

Crowley did not have an opinion about this. Many humans seemed to be vastly polarized by the issue of raw fish. It seemed as reasonable as any other human comestible, although Crowley's enjoyment of it was limited to being tempted to an oyster in fits of nostalgia with Aziraphale. 

Crowley turned into a smart fishmonger's on the high street, not ten minute's walk from the bookshop. It looked fancy enough to suit Aziraphale.

"Can I help you?" a bored looking woman behind the counter asked.

"Got a friend who likes fish, the raw stuff. Sushi," Crowley said.

"We sell sushi grade fish," the woman gestured, "salmon, eel, and we have some excellent bluefin tuna."

Her bored expression was replaced by an eager smile.

"Tuna. Yeah, he likes that one, I'll take a tuna."

"A kilogram of tuna, sir?" the woman looked quite excited.

"A kilo? My friend deserves the whole fish," Crowley said, offended at the suggestion that he would skimp. He pulled out a black credit card. Credit cards were one of his inventions, and this one always worked. Even after he'd defied Hell.

Suddenly the woman's entire demeanor changed. Crowley could only describe it as fawning, like angels when they started talking about the Great Plan.

"Oh, yes, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't realize, I can arrange, please, can I offer you something to drink - I'll need to make some calls, what's the address-"

Crowley preened, amused at the woman's complete fluster in the face of his obviously superior taste. Well, he was disappointed that he wasn't going to be able to bring the raw fish home - home, ah, to- to the bookshop, not home, the bookshop. But a special delivery was fancy, and that would tickle Aziraphale's feathers.

The amount charged to the black card didn't register. Humans were very arbitrary in what they valued.

It was early Wednesday morning when the sound of a truck backing up woke Crowley from his sleep, curled snake-form around Aziraphale in the latter's bed above the shop. Oh, good! Raw fish day.

"Wake up, Angel, I got you a treat," he said.

Aziraphale blinked and stirred awake and looked out the window at the delivery truck.

The driver opened the back doors of the truck and he and another burly man started to unload it, first pulling down a ramp and then lifting a crate out.

A large crate.

A very large crate.

The top of the crate was open and the body of the crate was filled with ice and- 

"I got you sushi," said Crowley, pleased with himself, "you love sushi!"

**Author's Note:**

> After which Aziraphale creates an entire miraculous fridge/freezer/tuna storage, and Crowley gets very drunk and sentimentally miracles into existence a moby-dick size tuna that chases fishing trawlers.


End file.
